


a hundred acres (and a row of seed)

by ineachandeveryway



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: F/M, Sobbe Background Mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:27:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21938209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineachandeveryway/pseuds/ineachandeveryway
Summary: This is all it’s been with her for the past month and a half and it frustrates him so much,somuch, but he also realizes it’s the part of her that he loved from the very beginning: the openness, the honesty, the reckless mess of her emotions when on display for him to see becausetrust, above everything./ Or, Senne moves out.
Relationships: Zoë Loockx/Senne De Smet
Comments: 5
Kudos: 44





	a hundred acres (and a row of seed)

**Author's Note:**

> I am one of the few people in fandom not scornful of this break-up, particularly because I think it will give Zoë and Senne the space to do some very necessary healing and soul searching, so here is an introspective drabble in light of that. Comments are appreciated, as always. 
> 
> Title is taken from ["Hundred Acres"](https://genius.com/S-carey-hundred-acres-lyrics) by S. Carey.

The morning he has to move out, he asks her something stupid. 

It’s the fear that propels him. Senne looks at her bookshelf and sees the picture of them she put up in July, one month after he moved in, and he knows that if he doesn’t ask for it now she’ll lock it up in some drawer where the pressure of other things will make the glass break. He doesn’t want that for something so precious. 

“The picture,” he says, gesturing vaguely, “can I have it? For a while.” Zoë looks up from some undefined spot on her desk, eyelids shuttering. Her gaze passes over the boxes he has stacked on the bed, filled with all of his things. It’s all she’s been able to look at for the past day. 

His breath catches when her eyes finally alight on his, then veer to the picture frame that he’s reaching for. “Senne,” she starts. He can hear the hesitation in her voice. It’s always been the easiest for him to recognize. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Zoë drops her gaze again and fiddles with the clasp of her bracelet. 

“No,” he answers truthfully. He wonders if he should tell her he doesn’t want to archive their posts together either. It all feels too final, and he loves those moments, the present situation regardless. He’s not going to act like Zoë Loockx hasn’t been the most defining person in his life since his sister died, since long before that even. 

“Just until you can look at it again,” Senne poses, careful and slow. Zoë knocks an eyebrow, sighs, exasperated. This is all it’s been with her for the past month and a half and it frustrates him so much, _so_ much, but he also realizes it’s the part of her that he loved from the very beginning: the openness, the honesty, the reckless mess of her emotions when on display for him to see because _trust_ , above everything. 

“I can’t guarantee—”

“I know.” He looks at her in earnest. “I’m not asking you to.”

Before she can respond, Robbe interrupts them with a knock, peeking from around the door jamb as if hesitant to enter their mine field. His cheeks are flushed, hair stretched and curled in a dozen different directions, shirt askew to reveal a small sliver of skin above his boxers. It’s serious if he left a make-out with Sander for this—for them. 

His eyes flit between the two of them. “Luka is here,” he mutters. 

_Ah._ It’s time. 

The words trigger Zoë into movement. Her body brushes past Senne’s with no preamble as she reaches for the frame, and though he doesn’t dare look behind him, he can imagine it: her holding onto the frame for dear life, ingraining the image into her memory before she has to let go. 

“For a while,” she murmurs, turning back to offer it to him. His heart races with the sudden touch of her fingers on his skin. He becomes acutely aware of their difference in heights, of how he could take one step forward and brush a kiss across her brow. 

Instead, he reins in his control and nods, takes the frame from her hands and holds it gently with care. Her eyes are hooded, and she sidesteps quickly after that, a signal for Robbe to come in and start with the boxes. He takes two in his arms while Senne takes the other and the picture frame atop it. 

Zoë is left behind with nothing at all, and for every step in the hallway, he wants to go back. He wants for her to call his name so he can drop it all and run back. 

“Senne.” 

Milan echoes his name from his post at the kitchen door. The box in Senne’s hands falls gently to the floor, and his recently christened confidante gives him a hug so tender it aches. “It will get better,” Milan whispers, holding him fiercely. The scent of fresh croissants envelops him like warmth. 

He breaks from the embrace and turns to face Robbe, who’s stood awkwardly in the hallway, face awash with guilt while he balances the pair of boxes that hold half of Senne’s life within them. He and Sander have done their best to keep quiet and tip-toe, but no love like that can be kept secluded to a single room. Senne knows this better than anyone. 

“Remember what I told you,” he says almost sternly, “face to face.” He sets the box in his hands aside and walks up to place his hands on either of Robbe’s shoulders, shakes him a teeny bit. A genuine smile graces his lips. “No overthinking. Okay?” 

Robbe manages a laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Okay.” His cheeks flush an even deeper color than before, and Senne thinks something with Sander must have come up in Robbe’s mind, because now he’s shaking his head, and the laugh is a little louder, a little fuller. It’s interesting that they were strangers only three months prior, because Senne thinks he’d kill for this kid and his happiness. 

But Robbe collects himself quickly and brings him back to the present, eyes darting nervously about. “You and Zoë, will you—” he breaks off abruptly. 

_Will you be okay?_ Senne can guess. He offers a tight smile. 

There is no way to tell what happens from here. The trial has felt like a tumor for a while now, and he’s not sure how to go about the chemotherapy and surgery. It sucks that this beautiful thing with Zoë has been reduced to a research study because Viktor doesn’t know how to live without making the people around him miserable. 

He knows no couple is guaranteed an eternal euphoric period, but he wishes theirs had lasted longer. Just a year. He would have been okay with that. 

A floor board creaks loudly, and all three pairs of eyes shift their gaze to some point behind him. Senne thinks he’s the only one who can see the cause of the sound, though, or recognize it: the fluffy white point of a worn-down slipper. 

“You heard Milan, didn’t you?” He forces another smile, hope and a little bit of despair lining the edge. “It will get better. Don’t stress about it. You have Sander to worry about.” Senne ruffles Robbe’s hair affectionately, and he watches in the same breath as Zoë’s foot disappears from view.

The words are a dangerous dive into the unknown, but he doesn’t regret them. He doesn’t regret anything, not since the day she stepped into his periphery and brought him down to earth like the rest of them. Hers is a grateful existence, one he cherishes to breathe, and he’s not ready to give up on it. 

He just has to evolve. 


End file.
